The evening air was thick with the scent of gun oil and cedar wood. Alexander crouched over the table, meticulously teaching Logan how to dismantle and reassemble a revolver. Each click, each twist, echoed in the quiet room like a heartbeat.
The door creaked open. Elena stepped in, her eyes sharp, playful. "Care for a game of chess?"
Logan instinctively opened his mouth to protest, but Alexander waved him off with a small smirk. "Go on, outside," he whispered, leaning close. Logan left, laughing at whatever joke Alexander had just murmured.
Elena set the chessboard on the table, her gaze teasing. "You even know how to play?"
Alexander shrugged casually. "Of course."
The first game was a disaster—for Elena. Alexander deliberately played clumsy, making exaggerated mistakes, all the while hiding a grin. Elena laughed and shook her head. "A man of words, yet a fool at play," she taunted.
Alexander's ego prickled, the words stinging more than he expected. The next three games were entirely different. Each move he made was precise, deliberate, unrelenting. Elena struggled to find an opening. Her admiration grew with each check, each forced retreat.
Slowly, their conversation drifted from the board to their minds. Their thoughts, surprisingly, mirrored each other—calculated, cautious, yet daring. Elena's curiosity broke the comfortable silence.
"How did your father… die?" she asked softly.
Alexander's expression darkened, his eyes distant. "I was thirteen. Meadowvale. December, 1883."
He took a deep breath, voice steady but tinged with memory. "Some outlaws, hiding from the law for killing Antony's brother, came into town. My father was a doctor. One day, he was treating one of them—unaware of who they were. That's when Antony's men stormed the clinic."
He paused, chest tightening at the memory. "I was sitting behind the outlaw, reading a book. My father saw the gunfire, and before I could react, he threw himself over me. One bullet pierced my left chest. Six others… he took them all. He died in my arms while I bled beside him."
Elena's hand trembled slightly, but she listened, captivated by the weight of the tale.
Alexander continued, voice quieter now. "A surgeon removed the bullet. He said it went straight through my heart… and I survived. He said I was god-gifted. Maybe I am… or maybe I'm just lucky to carry his sacrifice with me every day."
Elena's lips quirked, trying to lighten the mood. "So… does this debt of yours include the surgeon's fees?" she teased.
Alexander's face turned mock-offended. He reached into his bag and flung a thick bundle of notes toward her. "$3,300. With interest."
Elena caught it, eyes widening in mock disbelief. She laughed softly. "Half of this, I already paid! Well… if I were you, I'd have asked whether I wanted to become Mrs. William instead of giving interest."
Alexander's lips twitched into a shy, unguarded smile. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
Elena, noticing his reaction, rolled her eyes and said sharply, "I'm joking!" and swept past him, heading for Meadowvale.
Alexander didn't stop smiling. In the quiet of the room, the words lingered. Maybe, just maybe… she had meant it.